


To Taunt the Dread Wolf

by Rainicornucopia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainicornucopia/pseuds/Rainicornucopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Trevelyan have established a relationship, unbeknownst to the other members of the Inquisition. An expedition into the Hinterlands for healing herbs results in Cole revealing Trevelyan's innermost thoughts to the rest of the group. A few rounds in the tavern later finds Sera mercilessly teasing "His Elfyness" for his relationship with a human. Solas distances himself from the Inquisitor, leading to slight angst, a bit of smuttiness and a lot of fluffiness (and a happy ending, of course).</p>
<p>Long Oneshot filled for a prompt on the Dragonage_Kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Taunt the Dread Wolf

“This is stupid, _stu-pid!_ Boring, and stupid. Why do we need this much elfroot anyway? 'Elfroot', even the name is stupid, innit? Whine, whine, _whine_!” Sera punctuated the last 'whine' with a harsh snip at the herb. “I claim this plant in the name of all that is elfy!” she held the small leaf towards the sky like a trophy of war.

“Sera, you are elven yourself, are you not?” Solas bit back an exasperated sigh.

“Not like you, head all stuck in the past and everything. The present, _that's_ what's important. Besides you don't even friggin' wear shoes, bet your feet are all kinds of nasty, eugh.” she scrunched her nose in disgust.

“Since the days of old we elvehn have been attuned to the magical energies of this world-”

“Blah, blah, blah scary magic rubbish and 'my dead elfy gran is better than your dead shemmy gran'. _Excuses_ , that's what that is. Lady Herald's a mage, throws a proper good fireball and everything, don't see her up the arse – foot - in grass and whatever.”

Inquisitor Trevelyan glanced down towards her boots. “I _am_ human, Sera.”

“Well, yeah, but why'd you have to be human just to wear a flippin' pair of shoes?”

“I see your point, plus why go barefoot when long boots can make your thighs look so ravishing?” Trevelyan tried to make light of the conversation, but from the corner of her eye she did not fail to catch Solas' eyes slowly raking their way up her legs.

“'Ravishing! Takes a dusty, old, demon filled ruin for His Elfyness to find anything 'ravishing'. Oh and some of those horned thingies - with lipstick!” Sera snorted, mimicking the horns of a halla with her hands and throwing a comically seductive glance in Solas' direction.

Solas pointedly ignored the antics of the mischievous elven archer.

“Surprised if he could get it up otherwise.”

Trevelyan resisted the urge to chuckle at the inaccuracy of that statement. Over the course of their adventures Trevelyan had grown close to Solas; a tentative friendship was born in the Hinterlands with her help of the refugees. She would then pester him in his quarters at Skyhold to ask of his adventures into the Fade and from that a friendship was born. She suspected that neither of them could pinpoint the exact moment friendship developed into something more. A few good deeds here, a few good deeds there, one unexpected kiss in the Fade, save the Empress and finally she was rewarded with a night of passion with her elven apostate in some lavish corner of Celene's Palace.

She could say with 100% certainty that exciting Solas did _not_ require any of the things Sera had listed.

“Cole?” she called.

She swore he was here a moment – ah, there he was.

Cole sat on a mossy rock near the edge of a small waterfall overlooking Lakeside Camp. He picked at the small flowers growing around him, gathering them up in his arms.

“Cole! Could you come here please?” Trevelyan called once more.

Evaporating in a haze of green smoke he disappeared and re-appeared before the rest of the party, sending a startled Sera tumbling into the lake.

Cole stared at the flowers in his palms with hollow eyes. “Fragrant, sweet, like old memories of a summer's day. He dropped one in her hair and she laughed. It wilted and...he wilted too. He died. She doesn't laugh any more.” he looked expectantly at the Inquisitor.

“Ugh, again with the creepy riddles.” Sera backed away from the spirit boy, plucking a piece of soggy blood lotus from her breeches.

“You want to help someone? Alright Cole, we'll help.” Trevelyan smiled gently at him.

“We should first return to Skyhold. There are many wounded and Mother Giselle will eagerly be awaiting our return.” Solas suggested, walking up to Trevelyan and gently slipping the harvested herbs he carried into her hand.

Solas' fingers grazed her palm and lingered there for a second longer than was appropriate. The small gesture of affection escaped Sera who already jumped for joy at the prospect of raiding the Skyhold kitchens for pie, but it did not go unnoticed by Cole.

“Glimmer in the darkness. Weight heavy on her shoulders, pressing, crushing. Wrapped in strong arms she is lighter. A gentle voice and a gentler kiss, she is feather-light, whole. Bright, far too bright.” Cole spun towards Solas. “I want to help, but you are help. Help made whole. How?”

“I am not sure I understand, Cole.” as gently as he could, Solas attempted to placate the spirit boy.

“You! You are help.” A far-away look came across Cole's eyes. “Lips touch, butterflies in her chest. You hold her and she feels whole. I want to be like that – to help, help without helping, like you help the Inquisitor.” He pleaded, desperation ringing in his voice.

“You what?” Trevelyan heard Sera exclaim, before she quickly diverted the topic of conversation.

“We should deliver these herbs to Skyhold at once, the injured need them.” Trevelyan suggested in her most diplomatic voice.

Only her actions betrayed her worry as she stumbled off towards the edge of the waterfall, dropping into the camp below and causing more than a few recruits to squeal in shock.

**\---**

The journey back to Skyhold was miraculously silent; Sera spent the journey mumbling to herself with an expression sour enough to curdle milk. Cole tried to voice her thoughts on occasion, resulting in swift smacks to his head with her longbow and more than a few threats to steal his hat and breeches.

Much to Solas' dismay the Inquisitor did not speak a word to him upon their return to Skyhold; Cole had anonymously delivered the requisition of healing herbs to Mother Giselle on Trevelyan's behalf and she had not exited her quarters since.

The minutes trickled by, then the hours, and soon he found himself outside of the Inquisitor's quarters, fingers rapping on the wooden door.

No response from inside.

Carefully he heaved open the creaky door, stepping inside and silently ascending the staircase.

Trevelyan leaned out over the balcony, the cool air tousling her hair. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she deeply inhaled a lungful of crisp, cool air.

She was completely oblivious to his presence.

He crept up behind her, the warmth of his chest radiating on her back. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and he felt the fearful jolt of her body at the unexpected contact. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her waist in reassurance.

Leaning his head forward he pressed his lips against the rounded tip of her ear.

“Something troubles you, ma vhen'an.”

She lowered her chin close to her chest and away from his gaze. “I'm just tired, Solas.” She wandered to the other side of the balcony, arms crossed across her chest.

Turning to face him once more, she sighed. “and...embarrassed.”

He chuckled. “Why?” He questioned, taking one step towards her with a wry expression.

“Because...” her palms waved in circles, as if trying to form the words out of thin air. “Because... _ugh_.” her arms flopped to her side and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

He took another step towards her, reaching out to brush her cheek. “You know it is in Cole's nature as a spirit of compassion to reveal our innermost thoughts. He seeks only to help.” he gently laid his forehead upon her own.

“Unexpected as it may have been, his words – your thoughts, were... most agreeable.” he laid the lightest kiss on her lips

“It doesn't bother you?” she cautiously laid her arms against his own, massaging his forearms through the rough fabric of his shirt.

He brought his other hand up to her face, clasping her cheeks between his palms. “To know my very presence brings you comfort?” he closed the small distance between their faces and she hooked her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “I am overjoyed.”

“Had we not become intimate, I wouldn't have pegged you as the type to enjoy sweet nothings, Solas.”

“I suspect you would say much the same of Varric's faith or Cassandra's interest in romantic literature – intimacy aside.”

“Oh, I'm not so sure, Varric has a certain charm...” her lips curled in a crooked grin.

“Must I propose a duel for your affections?”

“The bald elf and his antithesis the hairy dwarf, battling to win the hand of the human Herald of Andraste? What a marvellous tale that would be.”

“Marvellously short if our present relationship is to decide the victor.”

“Are you...alright...with this? Everyone knowing? You do value your privacy.” Trevelyan's face twisted with worry.

“Do not confuse privacy with shame.” with a single finger he tilted her chin upwards “How could I ever be ashamed to be with one so beautiful?”

She kissed him lightly, the barest brush of her smooth lips against his own. “Then, as we were saying. You are the victor are you not? To the victor go the spoils.”

He pushed her back against the balcony, drawing a small squeak of surprise from her. He slipped his tongue between her lips, firmly gripping her curvaceous human hips.

**_Human._ **

The thought caused him to pull away from her and pause.

Never would he have conceived the thought of pursuing relations with a human – with anyone of this age, but much less a human.

A flicker of guilt entered his mind.

The cool touch of a soft palm against his cheek pulled him back to reality. “Now I should be the one to ask if something is troubling you, Solas?” She asked, tenderly looking into his eyes.

He examined her for a moment, his hands still locked on her hips. He marvelled in the way her freshly kissed lips glimmered in the light of sunburst skies.  
“When I am with you, I am burdened by no trouble of this world.” He chose his words carefully but kissed her with a ferocity to leave her knees weak.

**\---**

The Inquisitor perched herself on a rickety wooden stool close to the fire and basked in the warmth of the Herald's Tavern. Flashes of burnt orange and bright yellow flame flickered across her face as she took in the sights and sounds around her.

Varric spun tales of copper marigolds and crime-fighting Mabari, tricking Cullen into losing his dignity (and his undergarments) in their third game of Wicked Grace this month.

She would never tire of these little get-togethers when the threat of remarkably-well-spoken darkspawn magisters didn't seem so...threatening.

The dour look the barkeep shot her way suggested he wasn't as amused with the eve's entertainment.

“C'mon Chief! Mead isn't going to drink itself.” Krem called, slapping his commander on the back merrily.

“Then get it down you Krem! Put some hairs on that chest of yours.” Bull bellowed, pounding a fist against his tough pectorals.

“Doesn't look like it's done much good for you, Chief!” he shot back.

“Wax, Krem. _Wax_. Makes my rippling muscles even more irresistible.” Bull grunted, sending the red-headed elven serving girl across from him a lascivious look. “Ah...redheads...”

“You keep telling yourself that, Tiny. If you need me I'll just be over here, with Bianca, and my chest hair. If you can, try to step _over_ the pile of awe-struck women around my feet.” Varric chimed in from his spot on a nearby table.

“Hey, hey, when I picture people ganging up on The Bull this isn't exactly the image I have in mind.”

“I think we all know what kind of image you have in mind, and all I can say is thank the Maker for strong spirits.” Blackwall swiftly chugged the remains of his tankard.

“Spirits? Did they help you forget?” Blackwall choked down his drink as Cole suddenly appeared on the counter before him.

The Inquisitor flicked her eyes back and forth, watching the exchange between the men with amusement.

She was in such a pleasant mood, she had even jumped at the chance to help Sera place some inconspicuous-looking pies on the Inquisition table. An action she immediately regretted once she found herself scrambling onto the battlements to escape the wrath of one very sticky, fruity, financial advisor.

She stood out there for a few moments, huddled in the cold. This would teach her to pay better attention to her war table missions. Upon reflection fulfilling Sera's request for “Fantastic little whizzy things that go boom, then splat! Total surprise. Easy on the pitch. No geese.” (complete with a scribbled drawing of a goose donning Tevinter robes and an angry scowl) was not the _best_ idea she had ever had.

She prized open the tavern door, sneakily pressing her face to the gap for fear that Josephine would swoop down upon her.

The coast was clear.

The tavern boomed with noise, not unusual when the Chargers were present, but somehow this was...different.

She slowly descended the staircase but found nothing amiss; Varric had graciously re-gifted Cullen his undergarments. Josephine had cleaned herself of pulp and now joined the pair at the table. Blackwall and Bull downed pint after pint with the chargers. Dorian and Vivienne appeared to be criticizing Cassandra's wardrobe as she contained the urge to shield bash the fashion-conscious mages into the Fade. Cole was...wherever Cole was. From across the room Solas and Sera were engaging in some sort of conversation....

Solas and Sera? Conversation? This was _not_ good.

“What's going on here?” she asked.

“Your Inquisitorialness! Buttercup tells us you have a thing for elves? Broody elves? Broody elves with questionable clothing choices and scathing wit? Deja vu.” Varric glanced at her as if she had sprouted an extra head.

Sera stomped towards her, pointing in Solas' direction. “He's an arse! Utter shitstick, he is! All of this high and mighty, 'elven glory' pish and what does he do? Not keep it in his pants.” she giggled. “Arsebiscuit's all 'tradition this, elfy that' then dives right in to the Herald of Andraste's glowy lady bits? _Hilarious_ , right?”

Solas stood beside Trevelyan now, glancing at Sera with a distasteful expression.“I fear she may have spent too much time in the tavern, if her behaviour is to be of any indication. She is even more vocal with her... _opinions_ than usual.”

“How'd you lure him into bed anyway Herald? Stick leaves on your ears? Write some elvish on your tits?” Sera held her hand to the sky as if the most brilliant idea struck her. “Bet he makes you call out some of those demon elfy-god names, _that'd_ really get him going.”

“I do not _make_ her do anything.” Solas responded tersely.

Sera snorted, revelling in his frustration. “Stupid sexy humans and their stupid, sexy curves, yeah?” she nudged Trevelyan in the side suggestively with her elbow.

“The Inquisitor shows a reverence – a respect for the past that I have not seen in all of my wanderings. She is a woman of strength and honour, in addition to being pleasing to the eye.”

“Ooh get you Lady Herald.” Sera waggled her eyebrows. “Solas? How'd you say 'Thank the Maker for that arse' in elven?”

“Is it really that hard for elves to play nice?” Varric groaned, clearly attempting to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“He started it!”

“She has the ears of an elf but there is little resemblance otherwise.”

“Don't get your breeches in a twist. Dangle bags need to be in tip top condition for official Inquisitorial business, isn't that right, Lady Herald?”

The Inquisitor glanced between the stoic elf to her left, to the hyperactive elf to her right and wished that the Breach would re-appear to swallow her up.

“So Solas, about that question I asked you earlier; when you're in the Fade, you ever let the Inquisitor scale your 'Tower of Arlathan'?” Blackwall called from the bar.

“Aha, that's a good one! 'Tower of Arlathan', means your junk, yeah?” Sera collapsed to the floor in a bout of hysterical laughter.

'Forget the Breach' she thought to herself. She was now pondering the idea of opening a rift below her feet.

“Teasing aside, congratulations to you both. Maker knows we could all use some happiness in these dark times.” Blackwall tipped his tankard to her.

Bull slapped the man on the back, raising his tankard to the ceiling. “Here, here! Boss is a fine woman, Solas.”

“The Herald of Andraste, involved in some sordid love affair with an elven apostate, under her command no less?” Dorian gasped in mock surprise. “How scandalous. I love it.” He tipped his head in approval.

Before another member of the Inquisition could offer their opinion, Solas spoke.

“If you will excuse me, there is research which demands my immediate attention.” He nodded his head, walking towards the tavern door.

The tavern filled with lewd calls for him to give the Inquisitor a kiss, a little sign of their affection to titillate the masses.

He did not.

He opened the door, chilly air sweeping into the room and with a courteous nod he left.

**\---**  

She had seen hide nor hair of him for days now. No matter the hour she would usually wander into his quarters to find Solas enthralled in dusty scriptures and ancient books, or otherwise forcing down a steaming cup of herbal tea.

If she did manage to catch a moment of his time he would chastely peck her lips, mumbling some excuse to be free of her company before departing.

Her heart plummeted in her chest whenever this happened. She did not understand.

“Have I done something wrong?” She choked out, rubbing her arms nervously.

“Something wrong? My dear, why-ever do you think that?”

“I am sorry to trouble you with these matters, Lady Vivienne.”

In truth she had spent an age pondering who best to seek counsel from. Friendly as she was with the members of her Inner Circle, she could not see Cassandra or Blackwall offering handy relationship advice.

“Darling, this is no trouble. Uncertainty, that is where the problem lies.”

“Uncertainty? Of what?”

“Your relationship, of course. The minds of men are fickle, they often sway in one direction and then the other, it is no fault of your own.”

Vivienne's words brought Trevelyan little comfort.

She looked out across the grounds of Skyhold watching a band of enthusiastic Templar recruits bash at burlap practice dummies with the blunt of their blades. In the corner of her eye she saw a blushing young couple sat off to the side and presuming themselves hidden by the trees. A flower dropped unexpectedly into the young girl's lap, which led to a kiss between the dark haired boy and girl. Cole appeared a few paces away.

The little scene should have brought warmth to Trevelyan's heart, but instead she felt cold. She blamed herself, for whatever she had done had drove him away...or so she thought.

“Then how do I...sway this breeze in my favour?” the young noblewoman asked hesitantly.

“Why you play the game, of course.”

**\---**

Play the game she did.

The following week consisted of little more than accidental touches and sneaky slivers of creamy skin whenever she was in his presence – which she ensured was purely for business purposes. He would find unexpected cups of tea whenever he woke from unpleasant dreams and rare books pertaining to the Fade dropped on his desk.

Then there was nothing.

No books, no tea, he could not even catch a glimpse of her wandering Skyhold.

Those small gestures offered him some semblance of normality, a balance between being with her and distancing himself from her. Guilt threatened to tear him to pieces; he did not want to leave her, but nor could he shake the doubts from his mind.

He had told her that their coupling brought him no shame, but each time he witnessed a demon brought into this world or the forgotten remains of a once beautiful elven structure, he was reminded of who he was.

Each time he gave into the temptation of her curvaceous form, the blissful afterglow faded into shame. It was shameful to desire a human, but more-so his deception shamed him. He had not told her of his plans nor his true identity.

Their relationship was known by all now and the reality of the situation had hit him like one of Sera's unbreakable cookies.

He could not – would not, allow this to go further.

For all his resolve he could not help but miss the long talks they would share late into the night. Trevelyan would lay her head across his lap and drift into sweet dreams with the lull of his voice. He would brush her silken hair aside and plant a chaste kiss to her temple.

The memories of these precious moments haunted him in his waking hours and even journeys into the depths of the Fade brought no comfort. A constant presence shaping the Fade around him, she was inescapable even in her absence.

He would end this.

**\---**

Solas caught her exiting Skyhold's undercroft late one evening, splendid new armour in hand.

“A word?”

He did not wait for her to reply before pacing off in the direction of Skyhold's garden.

Rarely did she visit the gardens these days; if Mother Giselle did not steal her away to discuss the 'Will of the Maker' then Kieran would shadow her, bearing gifts each time she turned around. His admiration of her was novel at first, but after the seventeenth gift-wrapped turnip she could take no more.

“What is it, Solas?” Trevelyan carefully laid her armour on the floor of the small gazebo.

“Do you deliberately seek to taunt me?” he had thought to end things swiftly but his mouth had other plans.

“Whatever do you mean?” She brushed off the question.

Solas strode towards her.“All of your thoughtful gifts, your deliberate touches, the way you have dressed in those provocative...it is maddening.” He turned his gaze away from her, eyes roaming around the gardens.

“You distanced yourself from me, Solas.” the hurt in her voice was unmissable.

“I attempted to distance myself from you, clearly I have failed.” Solas could not prevent an amused tone seeping into his voice, for it seemed he had failed at a great many things.

“Why would you do that in the first place?” Carefully she caressed his jaw, tilting his face towards her.

Not once did his eyes look upon her face.

“Why? You are the Inquisitor. You are a beacon of human faith and I am an elven apostate with no ties to the chantry. Our union is frowned upon, and you are already under scrutiny for your mastery of magic, what other reason is needed?” He moved to walk away but the firm grip of her hand on his arm locked him in place.

“Since when did you care for human politics? Other than the thrill of the game, of course.”

“Petty squabbles and political machinations are irrelevant – thrilling as they may be. To many you serve a higher purpose; true or not you are to be the figurehead they so desperately need in these dark times.” he pointedly turned his gaze towards the statue of Andraste. “I am but a distraction.”

“You wish to end it? Then I wish to hear you say so.” Trevelyan regretted the words immediately once they had left her throat but there was no turning back now.

“Do not – you cannot ask this of me.” he wavered.

“If you feel nothing for me and have no desire to be with me, Solas, then I wish to hear you tell me so.” A weight lay heavy in her heart but the appendage had somehow found a way to lodge itself in her throat. A sickness bubbled inside of her, and no amount of magic could fight away the sorrow threatening to overtake her.

He told himself to grasp this opportunity. He told himself to lie, to rip the bandage from the wound quickly, but he could not. He would not lie to her – twist the truth as he might, he would not lie.

He gently clasped his hands on her shoulders.“Era seranna ma? Must I proclaim my feelings to the stars? So that the spirits beyond the veil may know of my love for you?”

“Love?” Trevelyan became acutely aware of the breath leaving her body in that moment, all of her sorrow and dread flowing lost to the wind.

“It would be kinder in the long run, but I cannot...”

“You cannot?”

This was one matter he could not explain with a few choice words. Slinking an arm around her hips he threaded his fingers in her downy tresses. He poised his lips over her own before plunging forward, relishing in the feeling of completion washing over him with the touch of their lips.

The sound of their shallow breathing was barely audible over the whistle of the wind in the air. The silence between them beyond comfortable.

Solas trailed his cool fingertips over the sensitive skin of her neck. He explored her skin like it was the most beautiful apparition of the Fade brought into being.  
His fingers dove to rest above the collar of her shirt. Trevelyan's heated gaze never wavered as the elf popped the first button, nor the second, nor the third.

The biting cold of the wind puckered her skin but his fingertips traced the curve of her stomach, dancing across her flesh, hot trails of flame left in their wake.

Trevelyan laid her palms flat against his broad chest, gently scratching at the fabric of his rough shirt. She toyed with his wolf jaw pendant, twirling it in her fingers.

Brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, Solas wordlessly permitted his human lover to unhook the pendant from his person. She laid it gently on the ground, covering it with his shirt but a moment later.

Solas made the first move to entwine their hands. They laid their arms against one another, moving closer with each passing minute until they both stood in a tender embrace. Skin against skin, they drew lazy patterns across each other's spine, savouring the peace of the moment.

He pressed a kiss upon her forehead and Trevelyan found herself staring up at him. The angles of his elven features enshrouded in darkness and heightened by moonlight only served to fuel the flutter in her chest.

Would Trevelyan voice her thoughts in that very moment they would be mirrored by thoughts of his own. Surrounded by the beautiful foliage she appeared as beautiful as Ghilan'nain. The rounded curves of her body filled him with desire, but the wave of emotions coursing through her eyes captivated him.

“You are so beautiful” he murmured, laying a kiss against her lips.

“I am sorry...” before he could speak further she pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. He kissed the appendage, gently backing her into one of the poles of the gazebo.

She locked her fingers around the back of his head, stroking his smooth skin. She closed the distance between them once more, passion growing with each kiss. Languidly they drank in each other, growing drunk from the mingling of their own breath and the rising heat of their bodies. They were intoxicated, dizzy from the overwhelming sensations overcoming them.

Placing her arms on his shoulders for leverage she lifted herself up, wrapping her supple thighs around his waist. He held her tightly to his chest, the inadvertent shift of her hips sending shockwaves through him.

She did not fail to notice the twitch of his length through the fabric of their breeches and so she sneakily repeated the action, nibbling on the curved flesh of his ear.

“Is it wise to be doing such a thing here?” She whispered huskily.

“I care only for you in this moment.” Lovingly he carried her into the thick of the garden, laying her down on a bed of sweet-scented wild-flowers.

Hooking his fingers in the waistband of her trousers he looked to her for approval.

Solas peeled the fine fabric from her skin, lavishing kisses upon every inch of newly exposed skin.

Trevelyan raised herself to kneel. She clasped his hands and slid them from her décolletage to her chest. His smooth fingers sent sparks of magic fluttering along the curve of her breasts. He massaged the supple skin in his palms, a soft and inadvertent moan escaping him as he worshipped her exposed neck with his lips.

Trevelyan stroked his shoulder-blades, her soft sighs of 'Solas' barely reaching his ears. He bit her - carefully lest he mar her beautiful skin, but the shaky moan from her lips spurred on his passions.

With grasping fingers she tilted his head back, laying open-mouthed kisses along the flesh of his throat. She drew his adam's apple between her lips, sucking on the flesh. A husky and straggled groan left him when she began to leisurely stroke his hard length through the fabric of his breeches. They were deftly removed.

Slinking down his body, he could feel the heat of her lips close to his manhood. Her curved fingernails tickled his thighs but he would not let her go any further; hee laid a hand upon her chin, guiding Trevelyan up to meet his face.

“I am unworthy of such pleasure. It would be selfish of me to indulge myself, for all the pain that I have caused you, ma vhen'an.”

He rested his forehead against hers and she did not argue.

“Make love to me, Solas.” she mumbled into his lips.

He chuckled. “Is that an order?” The force with which she pulled him to the ground was his answer.

They coupled under the moon, the perspiration on their skin gleaming in the light like the very stars themselves. Their pleasurable gasps drowned out by the moans of the wind which prickled their skin with frosty fingers, but the warmth of their bodies against each other was blazing.

In that moment they were not the Herald of Andraste and her elven lover, nor were they Fen'harel and his human lover. They were but two lovers, embracing in the afterglow of their passions and glancing towards the midnight sky with bleary eyes as sleep overtook them.


End file.
